A string, a sound to touch the heart;

a voice, a word that plays like a harp

to sensibilities heightened, sharp,

on edge even in the dawn-lit world.


It crackles.


With a whirl, a rush to catch-up with

the Busy, it’s one sip, two sip, and then

a whole pot of coffee downed

to be “woke” to Century 21.

Click-click; tap-tap – before a smile

come platitudes of professional guile.


Dead battery.


And it’s silence in the cacophony.

Spotlight seeming to burn down, accusing,

on the individual not charged enough

to keep up with the senseless, the noisy

masses.  Silence,

and a breath to calm, but

questions come, swooping like night-time

horrors, darker owls: Who-who?

Who are you?


They no longer know.